


Nature's Way

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Animal Transformation, Gen, Harm to Animals, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A run-in with a witch leaves Sam and Dean transformed into animals.  Not only do the Winchesters have to learn how to defend themselves in the wilds of Dakota but they have to learn how to defend each other.  To avoid being animals forever the Winchesters have to track across country to find Bobby Singer who may be able to break the spell.  Will they make it in one piece, or will the hunters become the hunted?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nature's Way

**Author's Note:**

> Nature's Way was written for [ReverseBang](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com) inspired by art and a prompt from [soserendipity](http://soserendipity.livejournal.com/) on LJ. Her wonderful artwork can be seen [here](http://soserendipity.livejournal.com/16382.html), please go and give her the praise she deserves.

**Now**

She had been a ranger in this small forest area for over twenty years, and was fiercely protective of it. On this particular day she was walking through the newly planted trees checking on their progress. It was a beautiful autumn day, a few days after Halloween but mild for the time of year, the sun streaming in through the branches of the evergreen pines.

The sudden roar made her quicken her steps; there were bears here but it was very rare to see one so late in the season and she figured that something must be up. As she rounded the bend her heart leapt into her mouth as she saw the huge brown grizzly rearing up on its hind legs. It appeared to be swiping at something and, as she moved cautiously closer, she saw that it was a ragged and bloody looking fox, copper fur smeared with red, snarling up at it, seemingly unafraid of the creature that loomed so threateningly over him. The ranger was still deciding what to do when she heard another roar and, to her horror, she saw another bear come thundering through the trees. 

This bear was different though; it was much smaller than the grizzly and, in the dappled sunlight; its fur looked an odd blue in color. It lolloped along on all fours, teeth bared, heading straight for the grizzly. For a moment, she thought the bears were going to fight over who had the fox but, to her shock, the _blue_ bear took a stance standing protectively over the other creature. It was the oddest thing she had ever seen, made even weirder by the sight of a slim, elegant swan that swooped overhead, dipping just low enough to almost touch the _blue_ bear and then soaring up into the sky again making a loud, squawking sound, nothing like any swan she had ever heard before.

She fumbled in her pocket for her radio at a loss at what to do. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen animals fight before but she had never seen anything quite like this. The way the _blue_ bear rose up over the fox, protecting it, the way the swan flew frantically around them; it wasn’t normal animal behavior, it was bizarre, unnatural.

As her radio crackled into life she watched as the two bears snarled, swiped and bit at each other. The fox, despite its injuries, was still snarling and nipping at the grizzly’s ankles. It was clear that, unless she stopped the fight, one or all of the animals would be killed.

The grizzly roared again and she pressed her radio to her ear praying that she wouldn’t be too late. Fierce claws scraped down the _blue_ bear’s thigh and it bellowed out in pain. This seemed to spur the fox on to even odder and braver behavior. She watched, astonished, as the creature lurched forward and sunk it’s fangs into the grizzly’s ankle. The bear swiped ineffectually, wobbled and fell backwards, blood spurting from its lower leg. The _blue_ bear reacted quickly and scooped the fox up in its jaws, holding onto its scruff as gently as it could and then, before the ranger’s incredulous eyes, it ran off into the thick of the trees, the fox dangling from its teeth, dripping blood behind it.

She clicked the radio off and stared; the injured grizzly gave a disgruntled growl, got to its feet and fled off in the other direction. In the sky the swan made that grating squawk again and soared upwards, gone from the ranger’s sight before she had time to register it.

She swallowed hard and shook her head. No one would ever believe her.

**Halloween – six days earlier**

“Are you sure about this Dean?”

Sam sat at his desk staring at his laptop with the utmost concentration. Dean lay on Sam’s bed with his legs crossed at the ankles, relaxed and pliant, eating something that looked, suspiciously, like pie.

“Totally sure,” it was difficult to understand what his brother was saying, pastry spraying from his lips as he spoke and chewed. “Anastasia De Vere. Lots of mysterious disappearances around her estate.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The last one, her personal assistant, vanished about two weeks ago.”

“According to this article she’s a popular socialite and philanthropist.” Sam peered back at his screen. “She gives money to several charities.”

“Big words don’t make her any less of a witch, Sammy.” Dean uncrossed his ankles and got up, cracking his spine. “I’m pretty damn positive it’s her.”

Sam sighed and looked back at the site he was studying.

“Say’s here she is holding a masquerade ball for Halloween.” He couldn’t conceal his shudder. “All those invited have to come in costume.” He shuddered more visibly. “And it’s a private function, by invitation only.”

“Way ahead of you there.” Dean appeared behind him, a stupid grin on his face. There was a smear of red on his nose and Sam shook his head, affection warring with annoyance, something that happened often as far as his brother was concerned. Dean reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out two white pieces of card. “Our personal invites, Sammy.”

Sam spun around so fast he nearly cricked his neck. “How the hell?”

“I have my ways and means.” Dean waved the cards, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. 

“What you mean is, you forged them.”

“Sammy!” Dean clutched at his heart dramatically. “You wound me.” He shook his head. “I didn’t forge them.”

Sam looked up at him eyes narrowed.

“Bobby forged them,” Dean said, eventually. 

“You expect us to just blend in, huh? Cause you and me, we look the masquerade type.”

“Did you miss the part where it said costume, Sam?” Dean helpfully pointed out the fine print and there it was in gold lettering, _Come in Costume or not at all_.

Sam remembered the last time he went out on Halloween, remembered Jess in her nurse’s uniform and he swallowed hard. Even though it had been over a year now it was hard to forget it, his one attempt at _normal_ snatched from him so sickeningly.

“Sam!” Dean snapped his fingers and he shook his head trying to clear it. “I know where your head’s at and, sure, I understand but we have a job to do here.”

“We always have a job to do,” Sam said and swallowed, trying hard not to sound bitter. “I thought, maybe, after the recent creepy doll gig we might be due a break.” He licked his lips. “You know . . . hustle some pool or somethin’ and share a few beers.”

“Thought you had enough beer back in Connecticut.” Dean’s grin was teasing but fond. “Add the whiskey and the Jaeger.”

“Yeah, and you’re so damn funny.” Sam took one of the invitations from Dean. “I guess we’re doin this then?”

“Oh yeah.” Dean beamed. “What makes it more awesome, is I’m in charge of costumes!”

Sam stepped out of the shower rubbing his hair with the rough motel towel. His brother had gone out about an hour ago to _’get our groovy costumes, Sammy’_ and hadn’t yet returned. Sam was, understandably, uneasy about his brother’s choices and he just hoped he wouldn’t be asked to wear something stupid.

When Dean returned over an hour later, Sam was already beginning to get pretty antsy. His concern ramped up a few levels when Dean breezed through the door dragging two large black bags behind him. Any hope that Dean might have chosen something simple and unassuming went fast out of the window and Sam just stared at his brother, his throat dry with anticipation.

“Here we are.” Dean beamed. He pulled the sacks over to the motel closet and opened them carefully. Sam caught a glimpse of something copper colored and he frowned. His frown deepened a second later when Dean pulled open the second sack. Inside was a huge blue teddy bear suit complete with paws and clawed bear feet. Sam swallowed, alerted by the size of the thing, the length of the legs and arms and the wide expanse of its furry body. “Cool huh?”

“What’s the other costume?” Sam bent down to drag the copper colored cloth out of the sack. It was pretty cool actually, baggy trousers and a leather waistcoat, big cowl with ears for the head, a thick fluffy tail and a brown colored eye-mask. 

“It’s a fox.” Dean smoothed his hand over the tail. “Chick’s dig foxes”

“And you know this how?”

“I just know it, Sammy,” Dean said, sans explanation. “You know me, I’m a chick magnet.”

“Do we get to choose our costume?” Sam eyed the bear with some trepidation. “Or are we doin’ _rock, scissors, paper_?”

“No need.” Dean was grinning now. “I got each costume with the person in mind.”

“Did you?” Sam felt his heart sink and he knew there was no chance of him getting out of this.

“Oh yeah.” His brother’s grin was cocky. “And you . . . you are just a big teddy bear, Sammy. A big ol’ teddy bear.”

Dean looked sleek in his costume; the copper suited him, his eyes bright and green behind the mask. Even the wide brush of his tail didn’t stop him from looking good and Sam felt stupidly envious that his brother could carry anything off. He eyed his own costume with ill-concealed hated and with a huff stripped off his over-shirt and kicked his shoes away.

“Come on, Sammy.” Dean was standing in front of the mirror turning around and around so he could eye himself up. He wriggled his ass and grinned in satisfaction. “I want to see you all _beared up_.”

Sam sighed, resigned to looking a total idiot. He unzipped the blue suit and stepped inside, wriggling it around until he could pull it up over his shoulders, his hands pressed up inside the paws. As he pulled the head over his own skull he could feel a sudden onrush of claustrophobia, his teeth gritted together.

“I wanted to be the fox!” He stated, knowing that he sounded all of five years old. “I can’t even hold a fork in this, and stop snickering.”

Dean chuckled but Sam knew he wasn’t gonna get his own way by whining. He was twenty-four now, not four and tantrums were out of the question.

“Stop whining, dude.” Dean preened himself one last time. “At least it’s not pink!”

“But it’s hot,” and yeah, Sam was full on whining now. “And claustrophobic.”

“Sammy, just go with it. It’s only for one night, for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah,” Sam’s voice was muffled and he spat a piece of fur out of his mouth, pulling back the bear’s head and breathing fresh air again. “Easy for you to say.”

“You don’t have to keep the head on the entire time.” Dean was still holding back laughter, Sam could tell. “You can still eat and drink beer.”

“Yeah, wow, thanks Dean . . . you’re all heart.” Sam slumped down on the bed. He could already feel the sweat pooling at the base of his spine and he knew he was in for an uncomfortable evening.

Anastasia De Vere’s mansion was huge; it was set back amongst a copse of trees, the lawn and flowerbed’s carefully manicured within an inch of their lives. The Impala looked incongruous amongst the limos in the parking lot and Sam felt suddenly self-conscious as he stepped out of the passenger seat, furry feet skidding on the path. Dean looked up at the house and whistled through his teeth.

“Wow,” he breathed. “This is impressive. Hey, we might meet some rich chicks here.”

“Oh sure.” Sam wasn’t really ready for the dating game yet, but even if he was he was certain that chick’s didn’t _dig bears_ in the same way they apparently _dug foxes_. “Then we can retire from hunting and become Beverley Hill house-husbands.

“Bitterness is ugly, Sam.” Dean’s eyes glinted mischief through the mask. “Very ugly.”

Sam huffed and pulled the furry head over his own. “Come on,” he said, voice muffled again. “Let’s do this.”

It turned out that a huge furry bear costume was a good place to conceal weapons and they got through security without any problems. The ball was already in full swing, a weird assortment of creatures, fairy-tale characters and monsters dancing to disco music or helping themselves from the buffet. The room was decorated tastefully with silken cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and orange and black balloons tied to chairs, with bright colored thread. Giant pumpkin lanterns supplied most of the light, flickering orange flame flooding the whole area with an uncanny glow.

There was a large silver punch bowl in the middle of the table and thick red liquid swirled around in it. Sam’s mouth was dry as he stared at it. It looked like blood and Sam could almost taste the salt on his tongue as he gazed into it. However, its appearance didn’t seem to put off the rest of the guests who were ladling it into huge black goblets and swigging it down as if it were soda. Sam shuddered and turned away to look for his brother.

Dean was, inevitably, standing at the bar. Like the rest of the room it was artfully decorated. Ebony bar mats and ivory skulls sat on the surface and there were fake bats hanging from bottles, rubber rats peering out of peanut bowls. The décor couldn’t distract Sam from the fact that his brother was leaning against the bar, hips out, knees slightly bent. He was sipping beer from a green bottle and talking animatedly to two young women who seemed to be lapping up whatever he was saying.

The first girl was tall and elegant, dressed in white feathers with a huge Paper Mache swan head and neck balanced impossibly steady on her delicate shoulders. Long blonde hair tumbled in thick waves down her back and her blue eyes were alight with eagerness as she leaned towards Dean. Her flushed cheeks told Sam she was more than a little wasted and, by the look on Dean’s face, his brother knew it too. Her companion was smaller, dumpier, her plain face almost devoid of make-up. She had a sweet smile though and her costume made Sam wince with sympathy. She wore a huge hedgehog suit with brown materiel prickles all down her back and over her head. Brown eyes kept flicking over to her friend, the beautiful swan, and Sam wondered, idly, if she, like Sam, had been forced to wear the most awkward costume.

“Hey, Sam-Bear,” Dean said and beckoned him over and Sam sighed, ambling obediently over. “This is my brother, Sam,” Dean was saying to his swan friend. “You can take your head off if you like, Sam,” he added. “Let these ladies see who the good-looking one is.”

It was hard to give Dean the finger when his hands were stuck resolutely in paws but he tried. Dean chuckled and took another swallow of his beer. For a moment Sam could almost imagine they were just two ordinary dudes at a costume party and he sighed, wistfully, memories of Jess and the Halloweens they had spent together invading his consciousness. He willed them away as he put his paws to his head, relieved to be free of its weight if only for a little while.

Before he could do it, though, the music that had been pounding resolutely in his head stopped abruptly and everyone turned to the center of the room. One moment it was empty and the next a woman was standing there, ethereal and pale, her body enveloped in white gauze, dark hair billowing around naked shoulders, black eyes burning. For a heart stopping moment there was silence and then, as one, the guests dropped to their knees and raised their arms to the sky.

Sam’s heart began to pound; he looked over to Dean who seemed frozen; his brother’s arm was around the elegant Swan girls shoulder and she looked as shocked as Sam felt. Sam felt something against his side and looked down to see the familiar prickles of the hedgehog costume. He put his own hand on the girl’s arm and hoped it felt reassuring. He doubted it though, as they were the only people in the room not on their knees. 

Anastasia smiled silkily as she walked across the floor towards them, her red lips making her teeth look starkly white and sharp.

“Well, well, my little trap didn’t just snare you two beauties.” She ran her hand down the swan girl’s flank and the girl shuddered, moving unconsciously closer to Dean. “But also two hunters,” she said and sniffed at Sam’s neck as he swallowed hard. “What a pleasant, but not unwelcome surprise.”

“What’s goin on here?” Dean moved so that he had positioned himself in front of Sam. It was a typical Dean _big brother_ move because, despite the fact that Sam had surpassed Dean height wise years ago, Dean still saw him as _Sammy_ , his snotty little brother, someone he needed to protect. “What have you done with those people who disappeared? Killed them in some sort of sick ritual, huh?” Sam saw Dean fumble and he knew Dean was going for his gun. Somehow that seemed like a really bad idea.

“Oh no.” Anastasia shook her head, black hair cascading over her shoulders, eyes burning. “I would never do anything as bad as that,” she sighed and waved her hand casually. Sam felt his muscles freeze, his whole body feeling as if it had been turned to stone. His eyes, the only thing he could move, flickered to Dean who was standing stock still, his face blank but for the utter panic in his eyes. “Living forever is very over-rated. I dabbled in magic when I was a girl back in the day. I lived in England then, lived in a place that was quiet and rural. My mother and father were rich land owners and they wanted to marry me off to some unknown baron,” she sighed. “I had to get free of them, so I conjured up one of the dark lords and made a bargain.”

 

Sam knew then what she meant; she had sold her soul but obviously her contract was stronger and longer than anything he had seen before. He watched her closely, trying to ascertain her age, trying to work out if he could see any weaknesses. Inside his frozen body, his heart was thundering and he was scared, terrified in a way he hadn’t been since he saw Jess burning to death on his ceiling.

“I know you know what I am.” She moved close to him and he could smell her perfume, yet underneath there was the pervading stench of rot and age. “But knowledge will not save you.”

Sam could see his brother’s eyes widen, fear, but not for himself, fear for Sam.

“I’m not going to kill you.” Anastasia shook her head again; “I did not kill one of those who came before you. I gave them new life, a chance of survival.”

Sam wanted to frown but he couldn’t. She must have seen it in his eyes because she came close again, scraping long nails down his furry arm, the bear suit even more ridicules in their dire situation.

“Have you ever wanted to know what it felt like to be someone else? Something else? Take my PA for instance; she was obsessed with her appearance, with her looks. She spent hours getting ready for work in the morning, primping and preening,” she laughed. “A vain little peacock.” Her eyes wandered to the elegant swan girl. “So I turned her into one.”

Sam’s mouth was dry; somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind he knew what was going to happen but he refused to believe it, hoping that someone, something might save them, that one of them might break free of the witches thrall and stop this.

“Oh my pretty teddy bear,” Anastasia purred. “As I have said, I am so old, and wiser than you and with years of experience behind me. I grow bored and need amusement. Life can drag on and no amount of good deeds will save me from my fate, so now I am resigned to it. I like to see what happens when I play with people’s lives. I know it sounds cruel to you, but there it is. I am in charge here and everyone will dance to my tune.

Take my servants for example; see them on their knees, see them worship me. They know my power. They know what good gifts I can bestow.” She moved away then and Sam desperately tried to break from her power. He could hear his heart, feel his chest contract and expand but apart from that he wasn’t able to do a fucking thing. His eyes met Deans for a long moment and it was like saying goodbye.

Anastasia must have seen the look that passed between them because she came up close to them and put her arm around Sam’s shoulders, assessing him once more, eyes bright.

“I’m not going to kill you, Teddy,” she said, almost gently. “My amusement doesn’t come from death. My PA was vain so she became a vain creature. That dumb little man from the realtors was slow and boring so he turned into a sloth.” Her hand ran down his fake fur. “These little girls do my hair.” She smiled as she tossed it across her shoulders. “And look what a good job they’ve made but – oh – what a pair of chattering birds they are.” She cocked her head to one side. “I was thinking of turning them into sparrows or maybe Jay birds, but you hunters have given me a better idea.

I like my playthings to take the form of the thing they most remind me of; it makes me smile to see the squirrel that used to be my mailman, to see the eagle that was once my lover,” she giggled then, weirdly girlish. “As for you, what better than to let you take the form you now hold?” She patted Sam’s head. “So you hunters will, ironically, become creatures that hunt for survival and your companions, well, plain little Hannah suits her hedgehog suit so well, and my sweet Lydia, you will make the most graceful of swans.” Her smile faded then and she leaned forward, wine scented breath gusting across Sam’s face, eyes dark, old evil evident in them. “There is no way back from this. If you do survive then, slowly but surely, you will lose your humanity and you will become as feral as the creatures whose bodies you inhabit,” she said and sighed, then and waved her hands, a slow, almost casual gesture. “As I order it so it will be.”

There was a pain then, exploding through him, his bones and muscles stretching, cracking, making him want to scream with it. The world whirled about him for a moment and then there was nothing.

There was something snuffling at his ear; he could feel it, small but sharp teeth nipping at his lobe. He opened his eyes and the light was blinding, bright orange flames burned at his retinas and he moaned, the sound coming out of him oddly, sounding more like a growl than anything else. He felt the teeth again; a desperate tug and he tried to roll away from it, his body too heavy for him to control it.

“Sammy.”

It was his brother’s voice but there was something off about it, something weird. It was lower than normal, softer, like the yip of a dog. Sam tried to force open his eyes for a second time, panic making him pant heavily.

There was grass beneath his cheek, sparse grass and the wet scent of mud. Now his eyes were finally open he could see trees swaying over his head, bare branches old and gnarly, fresh pines emanating a sweet, sickly scent. He swallowed, his throat dry and sore. His head felt heavy and he raised his hand to touch it.

“Steady,” Dean’s voice again but even as he rolled his head he couldn’t see his brother. He felt panicked, restricted, the need to flee almost overwhelming him. “Steady, Sammy. You need to . . . you need to breathe.”

“What?” His own voice and yet not; deep, an odd baritone growl. “Dean where the fuck are you?”

“I’m here, jerk!” He felt the tug on his ear again and he turned his heavy head to see a copper furred fox with strangely green eyes staring at him intently. “Yeah,” he could almost hear Dean smirk and he could swear the fox was grinning. “It’s me!”

“Dean?” He felt really, really weird, as if he were having an out-of-body experience. “What the fuck?”

“Remember the witch – Anastasia? Well she carried through with her threat, dude.” Dean leaned forward and placed a delicate paw on Sam’s arm. “It’s important that you stay calm right now. I can’t deal with any panic attacks.” He nipped, gently, at Sam’s flesh. “You need to stand up.”

Sam lifted his head and licked his lips; his tongue caught on something and, with horror, he realized it was his own teeth. They were like needles in his mouth, the tips pointed like fangs. As he stared down at his own body the realization hit him hard. He had been wearing a bear suit, but now, now it wasn’t a suit any longer, it was actual fur; thick blue fur covering him from head to toe. His stomach was rounder, his legs shorter but stronger, his hands were gone replaced by huge paws, claws like razors, where his fingers used to be, digging into the earth as he breathed out through his nose, his head spinning.

“I’m a fucking bear,” he stated. “A HUGE fucking bear!”

“Thank you, Captain obvious.” Dean snorted a laugh. “Fuck, this is like Disney,” he added. “Good job we can talk but if you start singing, _Bear Necessities_ to me, I’m gonna’ have to bite you.”

Sam snarled and rose, unsteadily to his feet. As he did so he noticed that there was a swan perched next to Dean and he remembered the girls.

“Are they okay?” He mumbled as he wobbled precariously on unfamiliar paws.

“Yeah, a bit shell-shocked.” Dean turned to the swan, Lydia. “But everything is intact.”

Sam breathed in deeply; he could smell everything sharp and clear, the mossy woods, the wet mud, and the dying flowers. He could smell Dean, a feral earthy scent. He glanced over to the swan who was picking at her feathers listlessly. Beyond her he could see a small hedgehog snuffling in the grass and his mouth watered, his stomach rumbling with sudden hunger.

“You can’t eat them, dude.” Dean scratched at his ear with his back paw. “Wow, this is cool.”

“This is not cool, Dean,” Sam wanted to be the voice of reason but the horror in his tone betrayed him. He recalled now what the witch had said about them losing their humanity. He had no idea how long that would take but he was pretty sure he didn’t want to remain a blue bear forever. “How can you be so calm about this?”

“Freakin’ out isn’t gonna help, Sammy,” Dean sounded stupidly calm. “We need to think hard about this, fucking witch.” He gnawed at his front paw. “Shit, I’ve had someone take my form and pretend to be me. I’ve seen people possessed, I’ve seen all kinds of things in my life but this . . . .” He made a sound which might have been a sigh but came out as a whimper. “People transformed into animals, this is something’ new.”

“We need to get help,” Sam reasoned. He felt out of sorts, too big for his own body, clumsy in a way he hadn’t been since his high school growth spurt. “Someone who might know a way to reverse the spell.”

“Oh yeah and we can just walk up to someone and start talkin’ to them,” Dean huffed. “Like some sort of freaky Muppet.”

“What about another witch?” The words were soft and muffled and Sam looked down to see the tiny hedgehog creeping towards them – Hannah – if Sam’s memory was intact.

“No,” Dean shook his head. “We don’t wanna’ go making deals or bargains with those freaks.”

The hedgehog snuffled; brown eyes looked wet and tearful and its little snout was wavering.

“I did her hair every single Saturday for a whole year,” she said. “And this is how she repays me.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Dean’s voice was soft, reassuring. “We’ll get out of this, we’ve gotten out of worse scrapes.”

Sam looked down on him; it might have been true, but right now he had no answer, no ideas and certainly no quick solution. Dean was right, they couldn’t very well approach any human in this form and making deals WAS out of the question.

“What about Bobby?” He said, finally.

“Yeah,” Dean sounded reflective. “The old man is full of ideas and those books he has . . . yeah, but South Dakota . . . I mean, how far are we from there?” He cocked his head to one side in a familiar gesture and Sam marveled at how much like his brother the fox actually looked.

“I don’t even know where we are now.” Sam wobbled a little on his paws. He felt tired, exhausted even, and his stomach rumbled. He could smell the fresh meaty scent of the swan and, to his horror, his mouth watered. “We could be miles away.”

“How are we gonna find out?” By now even Dean was sounding frazzled and his no panic rule seemed to be slipping. “It’s not like we can read a fucking map.”

“Guys,” the swan, Lydia, spoke up, voice almost melodic. “You seem to be missing something here.” She spread out her wings, white feathers flexing. “I’ve got a bird’s eye view of everything.”

“Good thinking.” Dean’s fox face looked absurdly pleased. “Hey, let me say you seem to be takin’ this awfully well.”

“Like you said, panicking isn’t gonna help us any.” She smoothed down her feathers. “This is certainly weird, but I’m guessing you guys have coped with weird before.”

“Yeah,” Sam heard his own voice again and winced, he was now convinced that what sounded like words to him might sound like roars to any outsider. “Do you think we can talk to anyone else?” He asked, feeling foolish. “Apart from each other?”

“This isn’t Disney.” Dean shook his head, fur lifting and settling again. “So, I’m guessin’ not.”

“If we do find Bobby, how are we gonna’ make him understand? Before he shoots us?”

“Sammy, let’s just deal with that when we get there.” Dean didn’t add the _if_ , instead he just lifted a paw and rested it on Sam’s foot, careful to avoid the claws.

“If we don’t get there, if we don’t. . . .” He felt the panic whip through him. “We are gonna’ go feral, Dean, a-and I might kill you.” His heart thundered at the thought. Already he had the fear that he might go evil, the chance that he might go to the _dark-side_. Dean had promised that he’d stop Sam before that happened but what if it happened while Sam was a bear? What could Dean do then?

“Breathe, Sam,” Dean sounded worn for a moment, eyes sad. Sam knew he wanted to be big brother but his body was limiting him, holding him back. “It’s gonna’ be okay. I told you you’d be okay if I’m around, and here I am.” He ruffled his fur and preened at it, waving his brush like a victory flag. “I might be small and incredibly cute but I am still your big brother.”

Sam smiled then, convinced that it must look like a snarl. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Still my big brother.”

It seemed like decades since Lydia had flown off and Sam realized that, as a bear, it was difficult to tell what time had passed or even what time it was. The sun was high in the sky now and so Sam had to assume it was towards the middle of the day. His stomach ached with hunger and he felt exhausted. He had no idea how long they had been here, wherever here was, or how they had gotten here. He guessed it must have been part of the witches spell and he shuddered, the movement making the fur on his back stand up.

“I’m starvin’.” Dean sat under one of the evergreens licking at his paw. Beside him, Hannah was almost buried under a pile of leaves and if things hadn’t been so desperate, that would almost have been cute. “I guess we can’t just mosey on up to a diner and order take out.”

“We’ll have to forage for our own food,” Hannah’s voice was soft and faint. “I’m no expert on hunting, but I guess that’s what animals do.”

“Fish!” Dean said, suddenly and Sam stared down at him, perplexed. “Bear’s fish. If we can find a river, you can get us some fish to eat.”

“It may have escaped your notice, Dean but I wasn’t actually born a bear.”

“Point taken but you have bear equipment now, so you should be able to do some of the things bear’s do.”

“Bear’s shit in the woods!” Sam said, dryly and was rewarded by Dean’s splutter that sounded more like a whimper than anything else.

“Fishin’ sounds better to me. Listen, this is a plan, we wait till Lydia flutters back with some info and then we find a river and you get to fishin’ for lunch. How does that sound?”

It sounded great in theory but Sam knew that it was going to be anything but straight forward. He still felt too big for his own body, unable to get used to the fact his legs and arms were short, his torso much bulkier, his teeth pointed, fingers turned to claws. Moving hadn’t really come into the equation yet but he was pretty certain that if and when he tried, it wasn’t going to be particularly elegant.

He was saved from speaking by the sudden flapping of wings and Lydia glided from the sky to rest at his feet. She was breathing heavily, feathers fluffed and her wings hanging down.

“So,” she stated. “Flying isn’t as easy as birds make it look.” She flexed her webbed feet a little. “But I found the main road and some signs. Seems like we may have caught a break.”

“Yeah.” Dean sidled up to her, as charming as a fox, as he was as a man. “Thank the fuck.”

“According to the signs we are about a hundred miles out of South Dakota.” She craned her long neck. “That’s where your friend lives, right?”

“Sure is.” Dean licked his lips. “In the Impala we could make it in a few hours tops if we floored it.” He looked up at Sam, green eyes speculative and concerned. “But like this . . . ,” he trailed off and Sam huffed something that sounded like a growl.

“If we go across country, avoiding main roads and stuff, more like a couple of days.” Sam knew that even this estimate was hopeful. “A week at the most.”

“Do we have a week?” From her position in the undergrowth Hannah sounded terrified.

Sam understood her terror, deep down he was feeling it too and he only had to look at his brother, curled up smaller now, tail wrapped around his body protectively to know that he felt the same.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just don’t know.”

They agreed that Lydia would fly on ahead and _reconnoiter_. They would follow with either Sam or Dean carrying Hannah the best they could. The quieter girl seemed to be having trouble accepting her new form and Sam was worried for her safety (and sanity).

As he feared, Sam found moving incredibly difficult and more than a little painful. Walking upright was hard, his movement so awkward that it hurt his spine. Eventually he settled for loping on all fours because it caused him less discomfort. 

Dean, of course, led the way. Sam could see his brush held high as they moved deeper into the forest. It was growing colder and darker and his stomach was rumbling almost constantly. As well as the physical strain, his new body was also causing him some mental anguish. He could smell everything, sharp and clear. The rotting stench of the dead leaves, the feral meaty smell of Dean in his fox form, other unfamiliar and unidentifiable odors that made his stomach turn, his mouth fill with saliva which was thick and drooled from the side of his mouth as he moved.

When the sun finally went down they were forced to concede that they were not going to travel any further that day. Fear had kept them going so far but exhaustion and hunger had taken their toll. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he ate and, despite Dean’s big plans to catch fish, they hadn’t seen a river. Thirst was an issue too and both of them knew they wouldn’t last long without food or water.

There was a copse of trees, deep in the depths of the forest, and it offered sufficient coverage for them to rest unseen. Sam could hear the distant chirrup of night birds and the lone hoot of an owl. He could smell other night creatures too, close but keeping their distance, afraid, he guessed of predators like bears and foxes. Sam settled down on a pile of dead leaves, curling up around himself for warmth. It was freezing and they had no way of lighting a fire or even building a shelter. Beside him Lydia put her head underneath her wing and shuddered silently. Hannah was almost buried by the leaves and only his brother remained upright and alert, keeping watch, first in the line of fire, protecting Sam even now.

Sleep took him eventually and he dreamed of high trees and dark places.

He awoke with a start; a strange new scent permeating his nostrils, something quick but cautious. He could hear the distant panting of dogs and, with dawning comprehension he knew . . . hunters.

Dean was asleep on his haunches, head dipped, tail wrapped tight around his body. There was no sign of Lydia and Sam looked desperately around only relaxing when he heard a far off squawk and saw that the swan was in the air. He moved as carefully as he could, bearing in mind the fact he was hampered by his unwieldy fur and he nudged his brother with his snout, once and then twice until Dean opened his eyes and got, quickly, on all fours.

“What the fuck?” Dean’s ears pricked up then and Sam knew he had heard it. 

“Hunters,” Sam hissed, hoping it didn’t sound too loud. “They have dogs.”

“Shit!” 

“We have to go,” Sam urged, wishing he could touch his brother, give him a friendly nudge of reassurance.

“Yeah. Where’s Hannah?”

“Under these leaves somewhere.” Sam scraped through the dead leaves with careful claws. “Here.” He rolled the hedgehog over and she opened her eyes, instantly panicked. “We have to go,” he repeated, scooping her up into his paw, still unused to looking down at it, seeing fur instead of skin, claws instead of nails.

The dogs were getting closer; Sam could smell them, as well as hear them. He could hear the hunter’s boots sloshing through the mud, their distant voices and, more ominously, the clicking of a gun, the safety pin being removed.

 

Real, genuine terror struck Sam almost motionless. After all he had faced, it didn’t seem possible that something like this would alarm him so much but it did, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was already turning feral.

“Stop thinking, Sammy,” Dean’s voice was low. “We need to go and go now. Follow Lydia, she can see from up there, so I’m hoping she knows what she’s doing.”

Sam obeyed his big brother and loped off deeper into the trees hoping to God they are going the right way. He balances the hedgehog lightly on his paw. Carrying her while trying to run on three legs is hard and fucking painful. Dean is close behind; he can hear his brother panting, smell the sweat on his fur. The hunters are getting closer, the scent of dog and gun oil is sharp and he can feel the breath catching in his throat as they run. Suddenly and without warning his feet skid from beneath him and he is falling over and over until his body hits something cold and wet.

Looks like he has finally found the river.

Dean lands beside him with a hiss and the two of them flounder for a moment. Sam can’t smell Dean anymore and, as he struggles to keep Hannah above water, he realizes that this is, no doubt, their best hiding place. He is proven almost instantly right when the hunters march past. He can hear them mumbling and grumbling and he knows the dogs have lost their scent. He keeps perfectly still for a moment and then responds with a soft whoop which sounds more like a growl than anything human.

“Good work there, bear-boy!” Dean’s foxy grin is welcome and Sam tries to grin back. Hannah wriggles a little in his paw and he, gallantly, wades to shore, depositing her on the mud.

“We should try and get some food, drink too.” He dips his head in the water and gulps it down eagerly. It tastes clear and clean, better than any beer and he drinks until his stomach feels swollen.

“Shame we can’t bottle this.” Dean is trying to swim, doggy paddle at best, and Sam realizes that his legs are too short to actually stand up in the water. He feels stupidly light for a moment, searching for a quip about it.

“Maybe we can follow it.” Sam gestures with his head, snout trembling. “See Lydia up there? She is guiding us this way. The river runs through this part of the forest and maybe it runs through the rest.” He scratched his ear with his claw and snuffled, “I’m a genius, huh?” 

“Maybe.” Dean licked at his paw. “But if you are that clever teddy, get me some fucking fish!”

Sam looked at his brother and looked down at the water suddenly very, very deflated.

He wasn’t sure if he could, but he was gonna have a fucking good try.

As it turned out, bears might not be very good at fishing but swans most definitely were. After Sam’s, let’sface it, not particularly good attempt at swiping fish from the river, along came Lydia and after ten minutes there were at least five fish on the river bank and a very smug looking swan.

They ate well that night and Sam felt full, warm and relaxed for the first time since the whole thing with the witch had happened. There was still a long way to go and a hell of a lot to worry about, not least how long it might be before they actually turned feral. Sam found himself curling around his brother that night, huddling up close in a way he wouldn’t dare if he were still human. Dean huffed and growled but he let Sam get as close as he could, snuggling down against Sam’s fur. 

The next day dawned bright and clear and Lydia soared into the sky to lead them. They followed the river, an odd parade of creatures, Sam loping along with Hannah clinging to his back, Dean up front and center, protector even if he was much smaller and, technically, weaker than Sam in his bear form.

It was bitterly cold, the ground muddied and slippery, fallen trees causing unexpected obstacles along the way. The forest was like a living, breathing thing; there were creatures lurking in every nook and cranny, birds rustling in the trees above them, insects crawling underfoot, predators unknown to them, moving silently through the undergrowth and Sam could smell every single one.

Time could only be measured by the rising and the setting of the sun; darkness came early, winter light dying quickly. Shelter had to be sought; food foraged for, warmth welcomed. They ate at odd times, whenever and whatever they could catch. Sam got used to eating meat raw and tough, ripping it apart with teeth he could barely handle, tasting the blood pouring sickeningly and salty down his throat. At first it made him feel sick, the urge to vomit almost stronger than the urge to actually digest but, eventually, he grew used to it, enjoyed it almost and that terrified him more than starvation ever could.

He was tired too; limbs heavy and hard to handle, head thick and fuzzy. Dean watched him carefully with sharp green eyes. There was no real expression on his sharp, pointed face but Sam was aware at how concerned he was, how much he still needed to protect Sam, how Sam was still Dean’s little brother however much bigger than him he grew.

“Your body wants to hibernate,” Hannah’s voice wavered as he climbed over a particularly difficult branch. “Bears sleep in the winter,” she continued and Sam’s gut clenched. “I feel the same,” she added and yawned, delicately, shifting on his back.

It was close to sunset on the third day when Sam caught scent of them again; hunters, several of them too, he could hear the dogs barking in the distance, the soft mumble of their voices, the occasional shout. He knew they had to go to ground quickly but, this time, they weren’t so lucky.

A shot rang out, sharp and loud; birds flew out of the treetops, squawking, filling the air with noise. Sam turned as fast as his big body would allow, rising up quickly onto his hind legs, Hannah tumbling from his back and landing onto the earth with a crash. The scent in his nostrils was thick but not unfamiliar, salty, substantial, the slick smell of blood.

“Sammy!”

The word was like a whimper and Sam could see his brother, the fox, lying on his side. Blood poured from a wound in his thigh; so much of it and nothing Sam could do to stop it.

On a _normal_ day Sam would drop to his knees, take a cloth and hold it against the blood flow, he would pour whiskey over the injury and carefully remove the bullet. He would listen to his brother cursing up a storm, calling him a girl, swigging on whiskey until he was drunk, singing stupid rock songs under his breath. Sam could stitch up the gash, careful stitches that would leave a scar, one of many. Roadmaps of their lives.

Now all Sam could do was to stand over his brother and roar, loud and threatening, attempt to keep away the hunter who had shot Dean so quickly and so accurately. 

He could hear them coming through the trees; hear the dogs, shrill and excited. Beneath him Dean writhed in pain, blood spurting from the wound in his thigh, his small body racked with shudders, shock setting in.

Sam swooped down and, gingerly, took Dean’s scruff in his mouth. He lifted him easily, alarmed at Dean’s screeches of pain, blood smearing the blue of his fur. Somewhere in the undergrowth he could hear Hannah’s cries but he ignored them, she was safe, hidden from danger but Dean, Dean was front and center and Sam, Sam needed to protect him.

“What the fuck?”

A voice, harsh and close and Sam whirled around, Dean’s body swinging. The man in front of him was small and rat-like, skin pale, eyes as big as dinner plates in his pallid face. He staggered back, gun held tightly in a white-knuckled grip, eyes on Sam as he tried, desperately, to click off the safety.

Sam reared up to his full height and roared as loud as he could with Dean still clutched between his teeth. He smelt the man’s fear instantly, the sharp acrid scent of urine, and a damp patch spreading accusingly on the man’s crotch.

“Frank?” Another voice coming from the left. “Did we get . . . ?”

Sam whirled again, Dean slipping from his grip. Sam roared and roared, clutching Dean with his paws, claws digging into his scruff, more blood splattering against Sam’s fur, The hunters were running now, he could hear their panicked breaths, smell their terror. Above him Lydia swooped down, large wings almost catching the hunters as they fled, swearing, shouting, and dogs nipping at their heels. Sam gave chase then, a rush of blood to his head, unable to stop, loping towards them instead of away, even to his own ears his roars and bellows sounded terrifying.

“See that?” he heard the first man, Frank, scream. “A blue bear, a fucking blue bear!”

Their noise finally died down and Sam halted, panting heavily. He could see the churned up mud his footsteps had left, see the mud caked between his claws. Sweat trickled down his back, his hind legs shaking. Dropping onto all fours he hung his head for a moment, his own fear sneaking slowly up on him as he realized what he had done.

“Real brave there bear-boy.”

Dean’s voice was rough, his breathing heavy. Sam dropped down as far as he could to run his eyes over his brother.

Dean’s red fur was matted with mud; there was pink on the white tip of his brush and smeared around his mouth. Deep red blood congealed on his leg but it was no longer flowing and Sam felt his breath whoosh out of him in relief.

“You okay?” he asked, when he got his voice back.

“It hurts like a bitch, but it was just buckshot.” Dean’s cockiness was a little muted. “I should be alright, till we get to Bobby’s.”

“How far to you think we have to go now?” Sam winced, now the adrenaline had worn off he ached all over, unfamiliar aches too, his thighs burning, his chest tight.

“We’ve been traveling a few days . . . maybe the same again.” Dean was trying not to drag his injured leg.

“Shit!” Sam sniffed the air. “Human, coming this way, I can smell it.”

The two of them made for the undergrowth and a flutter of wings told them that Lydia had joined them. The scent of human grew nearer and Sam wondered if this was a second wave of hunters ready for the attack.

Instead, they saw a tall, gangly young man walking carefully through the forest. He carried something in his big hands and when Sam looked closer he could see it was a tiny hedgehog.

“Hannah!” Lydia’s declaration sounded in a loud squawk but the man seemed oblivious. He was patting the hedgehog randomly, his fingers working gently along sharp spines, his mouth moving as he made little comforting sounds. On the back of his shirt there were stitched letters that read, **Hedgehog Rescue**.

“Should we?” Sam spoke quietly hoping it didn’t sound threatening.

Dean shook his head and Lydia lowered hers.

“She always wanted to be picked up by a geek,” she said, sadly. “But she hated this, you know . . . if we do go . . . if anything happens, she will be safe.”

“Can’t help but agree with you there,” Dean said and he licked at his injured leg, huffing with discomfort as his tongue came away red. “We need to settle for the night and try to make up ground in the morning.” He glanced at Lydia. “How far? Do you know?”

“The last sign I saw indicated we are headed for Sioux Fall’s National Park,” she said. “So I guess we must be close.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and stretched out, standing for a moment on his hind legs, his neck craning as he let the sun play across his face.

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice broke into the bliss he was feeling.

“Yeah.”

“Next time you want to rescue me you don’t have to carry me in your jaws like some sort of hero.”

Sam wanted to say something, make a joke of it but he couldn’t. Instead he just grinned, fangs showing and nodded his giant head.

“You liked it,” he said and Dean huffed.

“Keep telling yourself that bear-boy!”

A day later and Sam was pretty sure Dean was lying to him about how bad he felt. He was all but dragging his injured leg behind him and he was shivering with cold. Sam didn’t know anything about veterinary medicine but he knew his brother was sicker than he was letting on and he just wanted to scoop Dean up and carry him.

They were closer to the road now; he could hear cars, smell the stink of motor oil and diesel. According to Lydia they were deep within the national park and, therefore, Bobby’s place must be pretty nearby. Sam just wanted to get there, wanted to be himself again. He hadn’t said anything to Dean but his mind was wandering, he had started to enjoy the sharp raw fish in his mouth, the scent of Lydia’s swan made him almost delirious with hunger and he found himself wanting to sink his fangs into her. He was terrified of what was happening to him and it was like the threat of going dark-side, only now Dean wouldn’t be able to kill him, and he may very well hurt his brother before he could do anything.

Dawn brought a chill wind and bright sunlight. Sam stretched and yawned, a bellow echoing almost unbidden from his mouth. He rolled over and, to his horror, saw that the patch where Dean had been curled up fast asleep was now crushed down and empty. Sam stumbled to his feet then, wobbling and stiff, dropping almost instantly on to all fours, his new default position.

Then he heard it; a distant roar and he recognized it, combined with the scent he knew he knew what it was.

It was another bear.

He was terrified as he followed the trail of blood and the bellowing sounds of the other bear. It was clear that Dean had been dragged from his _nest_ and Sam knew why. He may already be too late, his brother might be bear food and if he was . . . .

A squawk from overhead made him look up and he saw Lydia circling the sky over and over. He lumbered in her direction, his heart pounding, his stomach rolling as he crashed through the trees.

A grizzly, the first Sam had ever seen up close, was towering over his brother. Dean, however, was not about to surrender. Sam could see that his teeth were bared in a snarl and he kept snapping at the bear’s ankles, blood all over his fur now, wounds that Sam couldn’t see and was scared to know about. 

Without hesitation Sam thundered through the trees roaring as loud as he could. It made his throat hurt and he could already feel sweat beneath the heavy fur. In his human body he prided himself on his quick movements and forward thinking but in this body he had no idea how to fight. He almost rolled down the hill into the clearing, skidding to a halt before rising up on his hind legs, confronting the grizzly.

The brown bear was much bigger than him; a giant of a creature towering above him, teeth bared. He knew he should be cautious but his brother was in danger and, for once, it was up to him to save Dean rather than the other way around. He growled and swiped with his claws, using them as he might do a knife, feeling them slash across the bear’s fur and dig into its skin.

The bear roared; it slashed back catching him firm across the thigh. He cried out, the pain sudden and sharp as if he had been stabbed. Blood spurted from the wound and beneath him he heard Dean make an odd, wild sound and then he saw his brother lurch forward and dig his fangs into the grizzly’s ankle. The other bear screamed out in agony and toppled backwards. From above them he heard Lydia’s swan’s wings and the bird swooped down, pecking and clawing. Sam used the moment to act and he got Dean’s scruff between his teeth and began to run.

The two of them were hurt and he had no idea how badly. He wasn’t thinking straight anymore, all of his instincts telling him to just take his brother and run.

He followed Lydia, looking up to the sky and just running. Dean was limp in his jaws and that scared him more than anything. He kept reliving the fight with the grizzly, the scent of the other bear, the stench of anger and fear. He could feel the blood congealing in his fur, the wound open and tugging his flesh as he loped towards, what he hoped might be, safety.

**Sioux Falls – Singer Salvage**

It had been a pretty good day; he’d been an FBI Director, Chief of Police and had advised one young hunter on what to do about a revenant. He deserved the bottle of whiskey that was chilling in his icebox and he was hungry enough to go for a handmade burger or maybe some hot chili.

When he heard the roar outside he almost jumped out of his skin; he hadn’t been primed for any disturbances but he was ready. He got his gun and tucked his silver knife into his boot. Holy water was safely stashed in a flask that was attached to his belt and he had a stock of salt in his porch. He was prepared for any unholy thing so he almost swallowed his own tongue when he peered out of the study window and saw a large blue bear standing in his yard, a bloody fox clutched between its jaws. He tensed for a moment wondering. Animals from the National Park very rarely found their way this far south and he had only had the occasional raccoon or rabbit in his yard before. He might be a hunter but he didn’t want to kill an innocent animal and this one looked as if it might be very rare, its fur appeared almost bright blue against the backdrop of grey sky and he had never seen anything quite like it.

He took down his old rifle and loaded it; he only intended to fire a warning shot and didn’t have any good reason to hurt the beast. His study window was big enough that he could open it fully and he leaned out, rifle in hand.

“Hey!” he called and the bear raised its snout, sniffing the air. “Come on ya’ critter.” Bobby shook his head, exasperated. “Move yourself.”

He poked the rifle out of the window and fired a shot over the bear’s head. There was silence for a moment and the bear didn’t react, didn’t even flinch and, obviously, had no intention of moving. Instead, it stared at Bobby with bright, oddly intelligent eyes and Bobby’s stomach dropped.

He was no idiot but he was certain there was something not quite normal about that bear. He got down from his perch on the windowsill and shuffled to the door. He was still clutching the rifle when he opened the door and fear made his hands shake around it.

The bear was still standing staring at him; brown eyes knowing. At first Bobby had been sure that the fox was its prey but now he could see that the bear was holding it carefully in loose jaws, teeth barely grazing its scruff. The fox was conscious and every now again its mouth would open as if were actually communicating with the bear. Bobby moved a little nearer.

“Get,” he almost whispered. “Go on, before I havta’ shoot ya’.”

The bear just stared at him. The fox opened its mouth again and made a few whimper-growl-type noises and the bear almost huffed, shaking its head and gently laying the fox on the ground. Bobby swallowed and continued to gape at the creature. The bear huffed again and wobbled half up onto its hind legs. It unsheathed a claw and Bobby clutched the rifle but there was no need for panic as the bear began to scratch at the ground. When it had finished scratching it dropped onto all fours and began to lick at the fox who grunted and tried to get away.

Bobby stared at the ground and then looked back at the bear who seemed to nod at him, eyes knowing. He looked at the ground again. Scratched clearly into the red earth were the words, _Sam and Dean_. Bobby shook his head and dropped the rifle.

“Idjits!”

Bobby wasn’t a vet but he could see that both _boys_ needed medical attention. The fox, clearly Dean now Bobby was looking closer, had buckshot embedded in his thigh and three long claw marks down his back. He had obviously lost a lot of blood and Bobby didn’t have a clue as to how he had managed to get here alive.

Sam, a blue bear for fuck’s sake, had a deep scratch on his thigh, it had split open the skin and was still bleeding intermittently. Both of them needed stitches and their wounds needed cleaning. For a while Bobby contemplated calling a vet but then decided that, given the circumstances, he would have to mend the wounds himself.

Sam couldn’t actually talk to him but he could communicate; he was way too big to fit into Bobby’s house so Bobby attempted to make him comfortable in his garage. Sam scratched out the words _witch_ and _spell_. He also wrote down the name of a mansion and its location. It was a long, painstaking process and Bobby knew that reversing whatever this was, was not going to be easy.

He then had to look up any books he had on animal husbandry. Dean was almost out of it, his green eyes glazed over, his breath coming in short, sharp pants. Sam left the safety of _his_ garage and hovered outside of the house, peering constantly into the window. Half an hour through his research Bobby noticed there was now a large, white swan perched on one of his cars. He glanced out at Sam who appeared to nod and he cursed under his breath. 

“Damn idjits,” he mumbled. “Never can do things by halves.”

Sam watched through the window as Bobby worked on Dean. His brother was clearly out of it, furry body limp, and his brush hanging off the library table. Bobby was bent over, needle working quick and efficient, disinfectant and whiskey in a bowl beside him, a bowl already pink with Dean’s blood. Sam could feel his mind wandering again. Bobby smelt good; a strong, clean meaty scent that made his mouth water. He wanted to eat and although Bobby was feeding him bread dipped in honey, raw burger and lots of milk, he was still ravenous. He was tired too, the urge to lie down and sleep almost as strong as the urge to protect Dean. It was winter and he knew that it was in a bear’s natural instinct to hibernate. He was losing his humanity and the scary thing was it didn’t bother him as much as it should.

Bobby had finished stitching up Dean and really wanted to start on Sam but he was more than a little uneasy. Sam’s eyes were less bright than they had been, his stance more guarded. There was something in Bobby’s gut that told him he should research the spell now and he gazed at his notepad, at the names and location that Sam had scratched out in the earth.

He’d heard about weird goings on around that particular mansion and he knew there were rumors about the woman who owned it. She ought to be stopped but he couldn’t concern himself with that right now, his main drive being how to reverse the spell. He drank more than enough whiskey and settled into his library with his books and his cell. He needed to call in as many favors as he could, he needed to stop this and soon.

Sam curled up on the blanket Bobby had left him in the garage. His leg hurt like a bitch but he understood why Bobby had left it to research. He heard a scratching sound and he lifted his heavy head. He just wanted to sleep even if it was only for a little while, just a little while.

“Sammy.” 

It was Dean’s voice soft and low; the fox crawling slowly towards him, his fur had been shaved and Sam could see the neat stiches on his back and leg. Dean looked weak and Sam’s gut clenched.

“You shouldn’t have come out here,” Sam whispered. “You’re still recovering.”

“Can’t lay there just waiting for the inevitable,” Dean gave a huff and staggered closer.

“The inevitable?”

“I’m weak, Sammy; the journey, the lack of food, and this body isn’t like mine, it’s small and puny,” he forced a laugh. “I’ve no strength left. Bobby did his best but . . . .”

“Dean don’t!” He could smell Dean, a warm familiar scent. Bears didn’t cry he guessed but that didn’t stop his eyes from stinging, sharp and painful. “What are we gonna do if Bobby doesn’t . . . ,” his voice trailed off.

“I don’t know, Sam.” Dean snuggled closer, wrapping himself around Sam in a way he would never have done if he was still a human. “But it’s nice here with you Sammy.”

“Even that small you still wanna’ protect me, Dean,” the laugh sounded more like a whimper. “You are still my big brother.”

“And you are my pain in the ass little brother,” Dean snorted. 

“Wonder where Lydia is?”

“I guess she’s found a pond somewhere to fish.” Dean yawned. “Come on Sammy, let it go, sleep for a while. Things always look better in the morning.”

“Yeah.” Sam flung a paw over Dean and closed his eyes. “Things always look better in the morning.”

Bobby remembered forging the invitation for those two idjits to go to Anastasia De Vere’s Halloween Masquerade. He couldn’t help but blame himself for what had happened even though he knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault.

He narrowed down the type of spell used (transformation) and then started looking for a ritual that would reverse it. There were several, old and unused but he had to take the risk, he had to. One of the things he learned about transformations was if they weren’t reversed fast enough the victims would remain an animal for the rest of their lives; he also learned that they would, eventually lose their humanity and become wild. He was certain that it was already happening to Sam but not yet Dean, he shuddered. He feared for Dean’s life, the fox had been so weak, so lacking in energy that he wondered if he would survive the night let alone any sort of reverse transformation ritual.

In the end he had to go for it and, while not a praying man, he said his prayers anyway begging whoever might be listening to save his friends, his surrogate sons. Sam and Dean, he mused, were destined for greater things.

He drew the symbols and got the ingredients carefully prepared in a bowl. He had been fortunate to have them all in stock and he worked quickly, dimming the lights and reading the incantation loud and clear. He dropped a lighted match into the bowl and it exploded into light, bright red and orange flames searing outwards, singeing his eyebrows and making his eyes water.

There was a distinct smell of sulphur in the air and his whole room was thick with yellow smoke. He took a deep breath and flung open the outer door running for the garage as fast as he could.

Sam wasn’t sure, at first, what had woken him. Then he felt nothing but pain, limbs cracking and popping, his head whirling. For a moment the agony was so intense he blacked out and then, when he came back to himself he was lying naked on the floor, a huge ripped blue bear costume by the side of him and his brother wrapped around him like a warm skin blanket.

He felt lighter suddenly, limbs longer, unwieldy, as if he couldn’t remember how to use them. He shook his head and his hair fell soft around his bare shoulders. His brain felt sharp, he could think clearly again and he wasn’t blue anymore.

“Dean.” Even as he looked down at his brother he could see how much better he was. The cuts and abrasions that had looked huge on his tiny fox body were now much smaller, the stitches neat and holding everything together. Sam’s own leg was almost healed, a cut now rather than a gash, just a smear of red on his thigh. “Dean – Dean!” He was seeing more of his brother than he had ever wanted to, but he didn’t care. “Dean!”

“What the fuck?” Dean scrambled to his feet, running his hands over his body, eyes wide. “We . . . shit! Bobby did it! We’re not furry anymore!” He stumbled back. “And I’m naked!” he shouted as his hands went, instinctively, to cover his _junk_. “And we were lying together.” He shivered. “Shit,” he pronounced. “Shit, shit, shit!”

Fortunately, they had spare clothes at Bobby’s and Sam had never been happier to slip into a worn flannel and baggy jeans. Now that he was _human_ again Dean hadn’t stopped worrying about his _baby_. The Impala had been at Anastasia’s mansion and Dean kept going on about how it might have been towed away and sold for scrap.

“We need to get back there,” he kept saying. “We need to get back there and burn the bitch.”

“Yeah cos we did a bang up job last time, Dean.” Sam shook his head, he glanced at Bobby with dumb appeal. “She does need to be stopped, but maybe some other hunters . . . .”

“I’m on it.” Bobby slugged down whiskey. He looked tired but triumphant and Sam wanted to hug him. “I’m trying to get the car back too, there’s a guy called Garth, mad as a box of frogs but capable, he’s playing cop for you.” He grinned. “Should have your baby home in a few days.”

“Jesus, Bobby.” Dean slumped back in his seat and took a huge swallow of beer. “How can we ever thank you?”

“By not getting turned into a fucking fox again!” Bobby slammed down his whiskey bottle. “Do you know how close you were to. . . .”

“Dyin’? Yeah I know.” Dean’s cheeks flushed. “I’ve never felt so damn weak, that grizzly nearly took me down.”

Sam couldn’t help the fond look he shot at Dean; his brother had gotten injured trying to protect him. He reached across and risked a short squeeze of Dean’s jean clad thigh.

“And you bear-boy . . . ,” Dean sounded cocky again but his eyes told a different story, “I kept tellin’ you to put me down and you never listened, carrying me like I was a damn baby.”

He tailed off as there was a sharp rap on the door; all three hunters looked at each other and rose as one, various weapons clutched in their hands. Bobby made sure all his traps were in place before throwing back the door and peering around it, his knife safely ensconced in his belt.

On the doorstep was a tall, slender naked girl with feathers wilting in her hair. She smiled at Bobby sheepishly and raised her hand elegantly as if she were at a dinner party rather than naked on Bobby’s stoop.

“Um, I’m Lydia,” she said, softly. “I guess the spell worked then.”

Lydia’s worry was that Hannah probably woke naked in the hedgehog rescue center and, after he had stopped laughing, Dean reassured her that everything would be fine and the _hedgehog geek_ possibly got a lot more than he had bargained for. The two of them offered to escort her home as soon as the coast was clear. Dean wasn’t going anywhere near that mansion until he had news of a witch burning.

Three days later with Bobby’s nerves beginning to fray, the word came through that Anastasia was no more. Sam felt a stab of relief but couldn’t help but wonder about her previous victims, worrying that they might be out there somewhere naked and afraid.

He didn’t voice his concerns to Dean though; the mysterious Garth had brought back _baby_ and his brother was currently polishing her within an inch of her metallic life. Lydia was cooking something delicious in celebration and Bobby was half drunk on his whiskey telling Lydia tales of his greatest triumphs.

Sam had other things he wanted to do; he went around back of Singer Salvage and built the largest pyre he could find and then he searched the garage and when he found what he was looking for he smiled.

The bear suit burned; blue tinged smoke and the smell of singed fur. The fox costume followed and Sam watched them vanish into air, the thin ashes floating into the night and away on the breeze. He stood for a long time, long after the flames had burned out, the darkness chill around him.

He wouldn’t ever forget the way he felt out in the wilds, the hunger, the pain, the anger. He wouldn’t forget how he felt when he thought his brother was going to die, how he felt when he clutched Dean’s lifeless body in his jaws, how he had started to lose his mind and actually become a bear.

Perhaps one day, he would face the yellow eyed demon, perhaps one day he would turn evil and lose his humanity that way but he was ready now, ready to fight, the bravery he had felt when fighting the grizzly still fresh in his mind.

Whatever shape or form they were in, Sam and Dean were still brothers, he knew that now, still brothers who stayed together in the face of everything.

And there was one thing for certain.

He would never, ever do fancy dress again!

End


End file.
